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A Joke

A young couple who had been living together for a few months decided it was time to get married.

Together they went down to the local Catholic church to inquire about coming into the church to tie the knot.

The Father told them they would be able to come into the church and get married as long as they did not have sex for three months. He told them to come back in three months.

Three months later, the couple came back and the Priest asked them if they had been able to remain selibit for the last three months to which the man said.

"Well father, we tried, we really did, but one day about a week ago, well she dropped a pair of socks, and when she bent over to pick them up, I could not control myself any longer and I took her right then and there. We made love for over an hour right there on the floor!"

The Priest was flabbergasted, "I'm sorry, you two cannot come into the Catholic church!"

A young couple who had been living together for a few months decided it was time to get married.

Together they went down to the local Catholic church to inquire about coming into the church to tie the knot.

The Father told them they would be able to come into the church and get married as long as they did not have sex for three months. He told them to come back in three months.

Three months later, the couple came back and the Priest asked them if they had been able to remain selibit for the last three months to which the man said.

"Well father, we tried, we really did, but one day about a week ago, well she dropped a pair of socks, and when she bent over to pick them up, I could not control myself any longer and I took her right then and there. We made love for over an hour right there on the floor!"

The Priest was flabbergasted, "I'm sorry, you two cannot come into the Catholic church!"

My sis in North Platte forwards me these articles - a lady writes for the paper there (I think). Usually a fun read. TA

Headline: Shed a tear, and unload some old junk

It was one year ago, almost to the day that we loaded up our eldest son and hauled his freshman-loving wares to college.

As his mother I must admit that it nearly broke my heart. In a way that some just don't understand, I couldn't bear the thought of my first born spending every night away from me.

I cried as he packed his boxes, I wept when he stacked them in the hall and I sobbed like a baby as he loaded them in the car and made it obvious that he intended to drive away.

While my younger three boys sang songs such as, "Achy-Breaky Heart," and the ever loving, "Carry On Our Wayward Son," I stood in the doorway and sniveled.

I also bawled as we drove down the interstate, cried like a fool as we carried boxes to his dorm, and when the moment came to bury my face in my hanky and leave him in that dank little room, there were some who wondered if I needed medication.

I adjusted, however, for I am nothing if not a woman of adaptability and modification. I got used to less laundry, I relished fewer electronics in the living room and I embraced the fact that at least one bedroom in the house was clean enough for unexpected guests.

Just as I began realize that one less offspring around the house wasn't altogether a bad thing, Vernon came home for the summer.

Or at least I heard that he came home for the summer. I'm not sure that I actually saw the kid, but word in the kitchen had it that he was about the premises.

There were the tell-tale signs of Vernon's presence such as his oversized shoes all about the abode, and gallons of milk left out on the counter. Not to mention the socks that were strewn all over the living room. And the real confirmation that Vernon was alive and well at the Clinch Compound came when the doorbell rang and the house filled with 30 young men who said that Vernon had invited them over for a poker party.

Given that, you would think that a mother such as myself would be leaping for joy at the prospect of Vernon packing his spades and heading off to college once more. Call me a masochist, but it simply is not so.

As out of line as it may seem, the thought of him leaving started tugging at my heart strings just last week and I couldn't help but feel the heartbreak of letting him go all over again.

I was just about to pull a fresh hankie from the box and douse my sorrows by pouring extra cream into my coffee, when I got an email from a dear cousin who was driving her daughter to college and leaving her at the curb of her apartment with their old couch.

"Lady Luck is certainly smiling upon us!" she wrote, and I swear I could almost sense her glee through the cyber space. "I've wanted a new couch for 16 years and now I have a reason. I've given her my old bedroom set, silverware and heaven help me—I've found a new home for the hook rug that Jim's mother gave us as a wedding gift." And therein lies the joy.

What better way could a mother console herself? For you see, if Vernon needs to set up shop, then he's going to need some wares and who better than his mother to insure he wants for nothing?

Suddenly I'm looking around the house and thinking to myself, I've hated these end tables for years! The coffee table certainly could go, and why haven't I noticed before how perfect my macramé plant hanger would look in a college apartment?

Much to my husband's dismay, I'm giving Vernon our Corningware plates, dull knives and mismatched glasses. The coffee maker is making the trip, the toaster is all but boxed up and the two-legged colander is just the perfect touch of home that Vernon's kitchen needs.

"Hey Vernon, you're not picky about towels are you?" I asked as I tossed eight frayed and faded bath sheets into a box. "And how do these tumblers look to you?'' The silverware is going, the worn out hallway rug was packed within seconds and if that old futon that has been hanging out in the garage for five years doesn't complete a
19-year-old kid's living space, I don't know what will.

Don't get me wrong, I'll still be choked up as I drive away and leave my darling son behind. But, as I embrace the prospect of a new set of dishes I realize—I'll probably be OK.

My sis in North Platte forwards me these articles - a lady writes for the paper there (I think). Usually a fun read. TA

Headline: Shed a tear, and unload some old junk

It was one year ago, almost to the day that we loaded up our eldest son and hauled his freshman-loving wares to college.

As his mother I must admit that it nearly broke my heart. In a way that some just don't understand, I couldn't bear the thought of my first born spending every night away from me.

I cried as he packed his boxes, I wept when he stacked them in the hall and I sobbed like a baby as he loaded them in the car and made it obvious that he intended to drive away.

While my younger three boys sang songs such as, "Achy-Breaky Heart," and the ever loving, "Carry On Our Wayward Son," I stood in the doorway and sniveled.

I also bawled as we drove down the interstate, cried like a fool as we carried boxes to his dorm, and when the moment came to bury my face in my hanky and leave him in that dank little room, there were some who wondered if I needed medication.

I adjusted, however, for I am nothing if not a woman of adaptability and modification. I got used to less laundry, I relished fewer electronics in the living room and I embraced the fact that at least one bedroom in the house was clean enough for unexpected guests.

Just as I began realize that one less offspring around the house wasn't altogether a bad thing, Vernon came home for the summer.

Or at least I heard that he came home for the summer. I'm not sure that I actually saw the kid, but word in the kitchen had it that he was about the premises.

There were the tell-tale signs of Vernon's presence such as his oversized shoes all about the abode, and gallons of milk left out on the counter. Not to mention the socks that were strewn all over the living room. And the real confirmation that Vernon was alive and well at the Clinch Compound came when the doorbell rang and the house filled with 30 young men who said that Vernon had invited them over for a poker party.

Given that, you would think that a mother such as myself would be leaping for joy at the prospect of Vernon packing his spades and heading off to college once more. Call me a masochist, but it simply is not so.

As out of line as it may seem, the thought of him leaving started tugging at my heart strings just last week and I couldn't help but feel the heartbreak of letting him go all over again.

I was just about to pull a fresh hankie from the box and douse my sorrows by pouring extra cream into my coffee, when I got an email from a dear cousin who was driving her daughter to college and leaving her at the curb of her apartment with their old couch.

"Lady Luck is certainly smiling upon us!" she wrote, and I swear I could almost sense her glee through the cyber space. "I've wanted a new couch for 16 years and now I have a reason. I've given her my old bedroom set, silverware and heaven help me—I've found a new home for the hook rug that Jim's mother gave us as a wedding gift." And therein lies the joy.

What better way could a mother console herself? For you see, if Vernon needs to set up shop, then he's going to need some wares and who better than his mother to insure he wants for nothing?

Suddenly I'm looking around the house and thinking to myself, I've hated these end tables for years! The coffee table certainly could go, and why haven't I noticed before how perfect my macramé plant hanger would look in a college apartment?

Much to my husband's dismay, I'm giving Vernon our Corningware plates, dull knives and mismatched glasses. The coffee maker is making the trip, the toaster is all but boxed up and the two-legged colander is just the perfect touch of home that Vernon's kitchen needs.

"Hey Vernon, you're not picky about towels are you?" I asked as I tossed eight frayed and faded bath sheets into a box. "And how do these tumblers look to you?'' The silverware is going, the worn out hallway rug was packed within seconds and if that old futon that has been hanging out in the garage for five years doesn't complete a
19-year-old kid's living space, I don't know what will.

Don't get me wrong, I'll still be choked up as I drive away and leave my darling son behind. But, as I embrace the prospect of a new set of dishes I realize—I'll probably be OK.

I do not about you all, but this brings a tear to my eye!

It certainly brings a tear to my eye. At least now I know I am not alone, there is at least one other person out there with the name "Vernon"!

Coming Home Drunk

0

Two married buddies are out drinking one night,
when one turns to the other and says,
"You know, I don't know what else to do.
Whenever I go home after we've been out drinking,
I turn the headlights off before I get to the driveway.
I shut off the engine and coast into the garage.
I take my shoes off before I go into the house,
I sneak up the stairs, get undressed in the bathroom,
stick my foot in the toilet and pee down my leg
to prevent splashing sounds.

I ease into bed and my wife STILL Wakes Up,
and Yells at me for staying out so late!
"His buddy looks at him and says
"Well, you're obviously taking the wrong approach.

I screech into the driveway,
slam the door,
storm up the steps,
pee hard into the toilet water,
then use the full flush,
throw my shoes in the closet,
undress in the bedroom,
then jump into bed,
slap her on the *** and say!,
WHO'S HORNY????!!!"
and she acts like she's sound asleep.

Ed finally decides to take a vacation. He books himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeds to have the time of his life - until the boat sank. He found himself swept up on the shore of an island with no other people, no supplies...Nothing. Only bananas and coconuts.

After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to him. In disbelief, he asks her, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?"

"I rowed over from the other side of the island," she says. "I landed here when my cruise ship sank."

"Amazing," he says. "You were really lucky to have a rowboat wash up with you." "Oh, this?" replies the woman. "I made the rowboat out of raw material found on the island. I whittled the oars from gum tree branches; I wove the bottom from palm branches; and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree."

"But-but, that's impossible," stutters Ed. "You had no tools or hardware." "How did you manage?"

"Oh, that was no problem," replies the woman. "On the South side of the island, there is a very unusual strata of alluvial rock exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into forgeable ductile iron. I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware."

Ed is stunned. "Let's row over to my place," she says. After a few minutes of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf. As Ed looks onto shore, he nearly falls out of the boat. Before him is a stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white. While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, he could only stare ahead, dumb struck. As they walk into the house, she says casually, "It's not much, but I call it home. Sit down please; would you like to have a drink?"

"No, no thank you," he says, still dazed. "Can't take any more coconut juice."

"It's not coconut juice," the woman replies. "I built a still. How about a Pina Colada?" Trying to hide his continued amazement, he accepts, and they sit down on her hand-woven couch to talk. After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable.

Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the cabinet in the bathroom." No longer questioning anything, Ed goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, is a razor made from a bone handle. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside of a swivel mechanism.

"WOW! This woman is amazing," he muses, "what next?" When he returns, she greets him wearing 'nothing but vines' strategically positioned, and smelling faintly of gardenias. She beckons for him to sit down next to her.

"Tell me," she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, "We've been out here for a really long time. I know you've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for all these months. You know..."

She stares into his eyes. He can't believe what he's hearing: "You mean---," he swallows excitedly, "We can watch KANSAS CITY CHIEFS football from here?"